The Vengeful Bridegroom (29 page)

On June 28, 1812, they laid Sir Matthew Colgate to rest next to their father, the last baronet, in St. George’s Cemetery. Engraved on his tomb were the words, “Matthew Nathaniel Colgate, 1784–1812, Beloved Son, Brother, and Father.”

From the upstairs window, Madelene had watched the carriage taking her brother to the cemetery, followed by Gabriel and other family friends in another coach. A beautiful sunny, almost perfect day. So many tears shed over the last few days, Madelene knew this ache in her heart would lessen, but never truly go away. All those times, she and her father had whisked him out of trouble.
I guess I couldn’t keep saving him indefinitely.

She remembered earlier at the church service as Gabriel took her hand in his when the rector finished the blessing and delivered the twenty-third psalm, which they all recited. Madelene looked over the small crowd and noted, of course, Mrs. Lavishtock, a funeral weeper by the look of things; Arnold Duckins, who stood nearby his aunt; and Mr. Brelford.

Matthew’s friend, Mr. Brelford, appeared to be taking her brother’s death particularly hard. His face was white and drawn. Even from across the church, she saw his hands shaking and clutching a white handkerchief. Perhaps this Mr. Brelford truly loved Matthew as the dearest of friends, which brought a smile to her lips. She wanted someone to love Matthew besides herself, and George, well, someday, she would tell him about his father and his mother, with Gabriel’s help.

They planned to leave London the next day and journey to Westcott Close, a place she now thought of as home. After the last fortnight, Madelene wanted to mourn for her brother in private and take solace from those who surrounded her, particularly Gabriel and George. Those two men whose very being made her heart beat fast, for very different reasons. How she loved them both, and surely they knew.

August. Fall would come too soon. Madelene looked out her first-floor window at the trove of trees near the lake that would slowly lose their leaves, no longer to provide hiding places for lovers until next year.

Had it only been late last spring, when she and Gabriel had first been together? It seemed longer, as if she could never remember him not being in her life. But that seemed like an odd thought. Perhaps by becoming his wife and George’s mother, she had shed her other life as daughter and sister.

Madelene waited anxiously at the window, looking for her husband’s return. He had spent much time in Town looking after his shipping ventures and seeking a partner. A Mr. Conkhorn, an elderly lawyer who lately had come into an inheritance, decided to invest with Westcott Shipping Enterprises. Together they planned to use new routes to the West Indies.

She remembered how excited Gabriel became as he spoke about the ships, the cargo, and the future. Indeed, he hadn’t mentioned
their
future, but it was all one and the same.

Whenever he returned to Town, Madelene would spend more time in the nursery with the baby and Charlotte. Donna Bella and Carlos had decided to return to Italy, which meant Madelene had to find a new governess. Gabriel promised to look into the matter while he was in London and possibly bring back someone who might be suitable for the position.

Two months. Two long months since she and Gabriel had been together. Since she was in mourning and with the matters of the estate to settle, and her husband’s business affairs, circumstances had schemed to keep them apart, or so it seemed.

Tonight would be different. She promised herself and Gabriel a surprise or two, which might actually compel him to admit he loved her. Three simple words. Three easy words. But he had never said them to her.

She took dinner in her room, still waiting for the master of the house to return. Her constant companion, Falstaff, lay nearby, his stomach, for once, satisfied—at least temporarily. Dressed in white night robe and rail, she looked and felt the picture of health.

Lying on her chaise longue, Madelene prayed they could start again and put the past and how they got here behind them.

Heavy footsteps thumped down the hallway and past her bedchamber. She flew to the door to peek, and there he was entering his own room. He probably wanted to remove the road dust.

This was it.

What was that noise?

Gabriel, naked after washing, heard something at his window. Unperturbed at his state of undress, he approached the window, thinking maybe a wild branch knocked on the glass.

However, to his delight, the noise was indeed his wife, looking beautiful and luminous and slightly damp, for a drizzle had begun.

She stood on the sturdy branch outside his window, grasping a top branch for support. Blinking sweetly at him, she said, “I know this might seem a bit unladylike for courting—but could I possibly come in?”

“No.” His answer was short and quite confounded.

“No?”

“I’m coming out.”

“Oh, but it’s raining and—” She noticed. “You don’t have on a stitch of clothing.” Her eyes widened as she watched her naked husband climb out his window and back her slowly into the well-worn familiar knot of the old tree.

Standing together with leaves to hide their embrace, Gabriel gathered Madelene in his arms and swept in for the longest kiss of his life. Of her life. He pressed her damp body close to his so that there was not even air between them that they didn’t share.

Catching his fingers in her long, wet hair, he knew how to warm her in all the right places. Even knew how to set her on fire—first with his tongue, then continuing his onslaught down her cheek to her neck and then farther. Her night robe slipped off and drifted down to the ground before either could catch it.

They both stopped for a moment to look where the robe had fallen and laughed. If they didn’t pick it up tonight, there would be stories bandied about in the morning.

“Ruff, ruff.” Falstaff growled, then barked again.

They stopped, frozen in their embrace.

Something was wrong.

Gabriel turned to Madelene and put his finger to his lips before he walked down the branch and looked in her window. He vanished in a thrice into her room.

Waiting a moment to see if he would return, she heard talking, both Gabriel’s and someone else’s. The someone else sounded like a woman, and quite familiar.

Alec.

She was back. All this time, Madelene had thought she had returned to Italy, after her uncle was jailed for robbery, murder, and other crimes both in England and his homeland.

Madelene climbed through the window and exclaimed, “What—”

“Stop there,” Alec told her, pointing a gun at her.

Gabriel stood right inside the window, also apparently stopped by the gun the young woman held.

Although Madelene felt wound as tight as a clock, she sensed a calmness in her husband, but couldn’t understand it. What was his plan? Surely he must have a plan. Heroes always had plans.

“Gabriel, where are the diamonds? You may have given my uncle a banbury story, but I know you still have them.”

Madelene took a closer look at the young woman who had haunted them from the beginning. Her eyes were as sharp as ever but her hand shook slightly—from exhaustion or distress? Madelene wondered.

With hands on his hips, Gabriel shook his head. “Give it up, Alec. I don’t have them. I’ve been informed the gems have been returned to the Countess Rocusco in Florence.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t believe you. I didn’t steal the diamonds from my uncle in Italy only to have them returned there.” She stared at Gabriel. “We could have had the diamonds and each other. You didn’t need
her.
” She jerked her head at Madelene but kept the gun steady.

Before Madelene could bristle at this affront, Gabriel stepped in front of his wife. “Alec, I told you in Italy, and I told you again when we arrived in England. There has never been anyone for me but Madelene Colgate.”

Madelene could see that as Gabriel continued to talk, Alec’s face turned brighter, her breathing came faster. This young woman, possibly mad, could shoot them at any time.

Holding out his hands, he told her calmly, “Alec, put the gun down and we can talk. If you return to Italy, we won’t speak to the magistrate about kidnapping charges.” He took a step closer.

Alec took a step back. On Falstaff’s tail. The little dog yelped and tried to bite her ankle. Somehow, Alec managed to keep the gun on her target while avoiding Falstaff’s teeth. Gabriel sprang toward her, but Alec stopped him.

Pointing the gun at Falstaff, who still growled at her feet, she ordered, “Stop, or, or, I’ll shoot the dog!”

Madelene steamed until she boiled over. Alec could threaten her or Gabriel with a gun, but not Falstaff! Unthinking, hoping surprise would be her weapon and asset, she stepped from behind Gabriel and rushed across the room. Madelene knocked the gun to the floor, then turned and hit Alec in the chin. The blow sent the young thief tumbling in stunned submission.

The gun lay on the floor out of reach until Gabriel walked over and picked it up.

Another knock on the door. Almost before Gabriel had a chance to throw on his robe, Mrs. Lavishtock burst through the door. “I thought I’d find you here!”

In surprise, Madelene looked at the housekeeper.
Did she mean Falstaff?

“Alec Taglioni, the magistrate is downstairs waiting to ask you questions.” Her voice, normally strong, sounded winded, probably from climbing the stairs.

Alec had risen to her feet, still smarting and angry, her fists clenched with no release.

Gabriel smiled at their housekeeper. “Mrs. Lavishtock, I’ve already told Alec she can return to Italy. We have George back and that is what is important.”

Mrs. Lavishtock kept shaking her head. “No, Mr. Westcott, this woman is wanted for attempted murder.”

Madelene, holding Falstaff to her chest, couldn’t help but enter the conversation. “Attempted murder? Whose?”

The housekeeper turned to her. “Yours, I’m afraid, madam.”

Unable to keep the astonishment out of her voice, Madelene shrieked, “Mine?” Whatever—
The poison, the push in the lake, when I almost drowned.
She started toward Alec before Gabriel caught her at the waist from behind.

He looked at Alec, who had sidled closer to the door and possible flight. “I trusted you. I brought you into this house, and you put my wife and child in danger?”

He waved his hand at Mrs. Lavishtock. “Please take her downstairs, and here.” With the gun in his hand, he walked across the room and handed it to her. “I don’t think you’ll have any difficulty with her. As soon as I dress, I’ll join you directly.”

Mrs. Lavishtock took the gun, a little too readily, Madelene thought, hoping the gun wouldn’t “accidentally” go off before Alec made it to the parlor where the magistrate waited, considering their housekeeper’s wrath emanating from her turban.

Graham opened the doors to the terrace, permitting a warm breeze to dance into the breakfast nook. He laid the hot repast on the sideboard before returning to the kitchen for coffee and tea. When he returned, the butler hid a smile, watching Mr. and Mrs. Westcott walk together into the nook. They were a delightfully happy couple. Fanny had told him they couldn’t be more blessed. He missed her, his silly sister.

As brothers would be, she annoyed him when she was here, but he missed her when she was gone. Left in London. He couldn’t imagine her luck. Miss Fanny Dushorn from Ludlow running Mrs. Westcott’s mantua-maker shop, Madame Quantifours. He shook his head. She would be fine. He should stop this woolgathering and serve the coffee.

“Mrs. Westcott? Mrs. Westcott?” Millie called before she entered the breakfast room.

Madelene looked up, her brows raised. “What is it, Millie?”

“What do you think of the deep blue gown for tonight’s soiree? I must make it ready for you.” The maid stood at the door waiting for her answer.

“The blue would be just the thing. Thank you for your thoughtfulness. It is of great pleasure to have you with us now. You are a treasure to me.” Madelene smiled fondly at her lady’s maid as Millie curtsied and flew out the door.

Mrs. Lavishtock rolled in the door with something in her hand. “Och, Mrs. Westcott, I wanted to show you this recipe for starched corn for dinner tonight.”

Bemused, Madelene looked up at her housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Lavishtock, but I am sure whatever you serve us will be perfectly prepared and perfectly presented.”

Gabriel smiled at his wife. “Such alliteration, have you a desire to be a poet?” He gently teased her.

“None whatsoever. What trips off my tongue even amazes me at times.”

“Yes,” he agreed, imbued with sardonacism.

Cocking her head to one side, she wondered, “And, your meaning, sir?”

“Only that I find you amazing. And lovely in gray this morning. I find you lovely in anything and nothing.” The latter said sotto voce.

“Shameless flatterer. You may woo me anytime with such lavishments.”

“I’d like to lavish you,” he leaned toward her to whisper. “Mrs. Lavishtock.” He straightened and looked at the back of the housekeeper heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“Och, yes, Mr. Westcott. Is there something—?”

Gabriel dropped two leather bags on the lace cloth. “My intuition tells me that one of these bags is yours—the currant and stone mixture?”

Mrs. Lavishtock appeared to not quite understand his meaning by her frown and puzzled look. “Oh, sir, I do believe you are mistaken. But I’ll take care of ridding it for you.”

Gabriel looked at her closely. “Perhaps you are correct. It certainly was a brazen attempt to rescue George with the fake gems I had contained in the original bag, which someone switched.” He ignored Madelene’s gasp.

“Yes, brazenly good luck.” She reached over to retrieve the bag and retire to the kitchen with her dignity intact.

“I must check with Mrs. Lavishtock on the dinner seating tonight. Since the same guests will be attending, I thought it might do well to change it slightly. Perhaps place Lavender McMartin next to Mr. Bush?” Madelene explained to her husband while rising from the table.